


Unsent

by bklt



Series: Tether [8]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/F, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 11:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17079182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bklt/pseuds/bklt
Summary: Isabela's gone. Hawke's still in Kirkwall.And both of them write letters they know they'll never send.





	Unsent

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short thing I liked enough to post. It's a bit different (and rougher) from what I usually post in this series, but I hope it's still enjoyable!

_Hawke,_

_I’m sorry I haven't written yet. I've been keeping busy, what with all the travelling. I'm in Antiva, in a room where I can see the ships anchored at the docks. It smells terrible, but every so often I can smell leather from the tanneries. Trust me, once you've smelled Antivan leather, nothing compares._

_I was at the market today, and a man stopped me._

_“You're the one who ran with the Champion of Kirkwall, right? Hawke, was it?”_

_And I said, “_

Isabela threw the letter into the fire.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Bela_ ,

_I don't know where you are, but I'm sure Varric knows a friend of a friend that can get this to you, or something. You know how he is._

_Everything's still horrible here. It's probably good that you left. Meredith's been riding my ass more than ever, and she doesn't even have the courtesy to pull my hair while she's at it._

_I suppose there isn't much to grab. I cut my hair. I thought it'd be a nice change, and you always said how it was getting too long and covered my eyes. It was silly, actually. I was drunk and one night I thought, I'm tired of it, and it just all came off. Maybe I'll end up liking it._

Hawke ran her hand through the short stubble on her head. She looked awful and she knew it. Standing up and letting the paper flutter onto the floor, she went to her study and wondered what she'd drink that night.

 

* * *

 

 

_Hawke,_

_I'm sorry for not writing sooner. It's been busy._

_I'm in Antiva now. I'm sure you could have guessed. I always said how much I like it here._

_I was at the market today, and you'd never believe what happened. People were talking about the Champion, how she defeated the Arishok in single combat. The details were messy, and their description of you was even messier. Did you know you're almost the size of a dwarf? Or that you once took down a hundred darkspawn by yourself and turned into a dragon?_

_It's amazing how stories change. I wanted to tell them how it really went, but thought it'd be funnier if they believed all that. I think you'd have a laugh at that too._

Isabela felt tired. Maybe she'd finish the letter in the morning.

 

* * *

 

_Bela,_

_I'm not sure where you are, but if you're reading this, I guess it found you somehow._

_Things are as terrible as ever. Everyone is at each other and they expect me to clean it up for them. It's good you're not here. I'm sure it's more fun than whatever's going on in Kirkwall. It never ends, clearly._

_I'm mostly bored. Everyone's busy and depressed all the time and I cut my hair because I thought it'd be fun. It looks bad. You'd probably think it was funny._

When Hawke woke up she realized she slept on top of the parchment, the ink dried on her hands and face, leaving the letter illegible.

 

* * *

 

_Hawke,_

_I'm sorry I've been too busy to write. I went to Antiva, and to be honest, it's not as good as I remember._

_People talk about you, you know. They say you defeated the Arishok in single combat and saved the city with not a scar on you, that you looked so small but did it anyways. You were just some dog lord running from Lothering, they say. You turned into a dragon and came to Kirkwall with what was left of your family, got rich, and now live in the big Amell Estate. Rags to riches, nobody to somebody. A perfect little story that can fit inside of a book someday._

_But I know who you are. You're small but not that small. You didn't turn into a dragon, but getting help from one seems just as unbelievable. A lot of what happened to you is._

_I don't bother to correct all of those stories. Sometimes it's nicer to believe things were cleaner than it was._

* * *

 

Hawke couldn't remember the last time she was this drunk.

Her hand was on her mother’s room, debating whether or not to finally enter. Whatever sobriety she had left told her she’d regret defiling the sanctity of her mother’s old space, and she stumbled off to the double doors of the master bedroom.

She didn't realize she was at her desk until she started writing, the paper blurred. It took every ounce of concentration to write straight.

_Bela,_

_I cut my hair because I don't know why. I was drunk as usual and thought that maybe something needed to change. That wasn't it and now I look like shit. I'd look like shit anyways. I have a big scar on my throat now from the Arishok and I either look tough or just worse._

_Bethany tells me all the stories you write to her about, and it sounds like you're having fun. I don't blame you for not writing me. Awkward, and all that._

_No hard feelings. I knew you'd leave someday but just expected that maybe you'd say goodbye first and that I wouldn't have to find out your room was empty and that stupid boat I got you was still there and that bottle of Antivan whiskey was under the bed and that you just took whatever you could carry so you could leave. I'm not angry. I just hope you keep having fun and maybe you'll visit sometime but it's been so long so I doubt that's going to happen and I understand. I'm not mad at you because I knew it was going to happen and what can I do about that?_

_But if you don’t want to hear from me, just write back. Or don’t. I’ll get the message either way. Maybe I should have gotten it a long time ago._

She couldn’t find it in her to crumple the paper.

 

* * *

It was deep into the night when Isabela slipped back to her room at an Antivan inn, feeling empty and disappointed at how unfruitful the evening had been. There were no jobs worth taking, no rumours about Castillon that lead anywhere solid. She lit her lantern and sat at her desk that was much too small, the whole thing tipping on a shaky leg when she leaned forward.

Unrolling the piece of parchment and dipping her quill in the inkwell, she tried to think of what to say before finally writing it down. She didn't get far before she had enough, crawling into the bed that was too hard and digging her nails into the palm of her hand.

_Hawke,_

_I'm sorry_


End file.
